A Better Ending
by sockie1000
Summary: Michael doesn't have time to think, doesn't have time to curse, doesn't have time to do anything before Billy suddenly slips through the ice and disappears into the depths.


Title: A Better Ending

Author: sockie1000

Word Count: 11,000

Rating: G

Summary: Michael doesn't have time to think, doesn't have time to curse, doesn't have time to do _anything_ before Billy suddenly slips through the ice and disappears into the depths.

Betas: Faye Dartmouth and Cokie316

Author's notes: I saw a story on the news about how to survive if you fall through the ice into water and naturally, my first thought was, "Billy needs to do that!" Thus, this story. Thanks to Faye for keeping me at it. This story turned out a lot longer than I planned.

* * *

Michael has always hated "It's a Wonderful Life."

And not for the same reason as other people who dislike the movie.

It isn't because it is depressing for the vast majority of the story. Life is often depressing and he has nothing against realism. He recognizes that things are what they are and no amount of sugar-coating is ever going to change cold, hard facts. It is one of the reasons he gets along well with Casey.

It isn't because the story uses angels and divine intervention to save the day. Michael has been in too many impossible situations where death is imminent to doubt the impact of a little help from above and he has no problem watching other people receive the same consideration. Which is why he doesn't bat an eye any time Rick mumbles a plea under his breath when they are pinned down, under fire, and all looks lost.

And it isn't because the movie wraps three hours of generally depressive misery up with an optimistic bow at the end. Sure, it is unrealistic that the bank examiner would tear up an arrest warrant and that everyone in town would show up giving away a basketful of money and jewelry. But still, it is a comforting thought- that when everything looks bleak, there could still be a happy ending, surrounded by family and friends, complete with a toast and song. It actually reminds him of some of the missions the ODS has completed, where disaster looked almost certain but in the end, they made it and celebrated their good luck at a local bar with Billy hoisting his ice-cold ale into the air and leading them in a salute to the mission MVP.

No, those aren't the reasons.

The real reason Michael hates the movie is simply because it hits too close to home.

When he was thirteen, his friend, Steven Ellis, fell through a thin spot of ice while they are playing hockey on a frozen lake. While the other boys were transfixed, their minds and bodies paralyzed by fear, not knowing what to do next, Michael, ever the leader, had acted. He laid down on his belly and reached out to Steven, who was desperately trying to keep his head above water, his arms flailing. All these years later, Michael can still hear his screams punctuated by temporary dips below the surface, where he gulped in gallons of ice water as he gasped desperately for breath.

In the end, it didn't matter that Michael had pulled him out. Hypothermia sets in quickly in frigid water and unless you get out almost immediately, the chances of survival are slim. But at thirteen years old, Michael didn't know that. And four days later at Steven's funeral, all Michael could think about was how he should have done something differently—gotten him out quicker, warmed him up faster. And about how he would gladly trade the hearing in his left ear if only Steven was still alive.

Steven's death was a turning point for Michael. Now he knew what he wanted to do with his life—to become a doctor- because he would never allow himself to be that powerless again. But by the time he went to college, it became apparent that Michael would never make it through medical school. He was smart enough, that is for sure, and he had the skills. But much like George Bailey, he was too restless, too eager to get outside and seek adventure in the world. He would never make it spending his life confined by four walls. So two years in, Michael changed his major and never looked back.

But there is one thing he has kept with him, one thing he's studied over, time and time again since that fateful January day, until it was seared into his brain. It is unnecessary, of course. There was nothing Michael could have done differently and the odds of the same thing happening again are astronomically low. But that doesn't stop him from going over it periodically. Later, when Fay would find him poring over the latest research on hypothermia from the AMA, she would sympathetically shake her head and sadly say that if nothing else, it was nice to be able to pinpoint the exact moment when Michael became paranoid.

But Michael prefers to think of himself more as being prepared for anything as opposed to being paranoid. It has a much nicer ring to it and makes him sound more like a helpful Boy Scout than a borderline nutcase. Plus, it's true. You never know when you are going to need something; when random, obscure knowledge could be the difference between life and death.

Like now.

When Michael doesn't have time to think, doesn't have time to curse, doesn't have time to do _anything_ before Billy suddenly slips through the ice and disappears into the depths.

=0=

They are running from an irate group of terrorist-funding drug dealers in northeastern Belarus. Not that the details matter all that much; they always seem to be running from a group of gun-wielding criminals who are unhappy with their interference. At least, they are when a mission gets busted to hell, which doesn't happen often but far more frequently than Michael would prefer.

And busted it is. Which is why they aren't running directly for the car. The compound is isolated but equidistant from several towns. And the mission has been compromised enough already without picking up a tail and leading them straight back to the ODS' base camp. Their best option is to lose the men on foot.

Casey has the intel and is running point in a circuitous route, followed by Rick and then Billy, with Michael bringing up the rear. Snow has been falling steadily since midnight when they infiltrated the compound, but now it is picking up, bringing the outdoors close to white-out conditions. The large snowflakes driven by the harsh wind cut at their eyes, the white glare from the ground almost blinding. The depth of the snow is challenging, making walking difficult and running nearly downright impossible. Still, they press on, trying to put as much distance as possible between them and their foes.

After an hour, Michael calls for Casey to stop. The ODS huddles together, turning their backs to the howling wind as they bring their scarfs down from around their mouths to talk.

"Think we lost them?" Rick asks, his breath coming out in white puffs.

"Yes." Michael nods, feeling fairly confident, as he pulls a satellite GPS device out of his pocket. He quickly navigates the screen, thankful he purchased a pair of touch screen gloves before coming on the mission. Still, his hands shake from the cold as he pulls up their coordinates and squints at the screen, the glare from the snow making it hard to see. "Our car is a half a mile away, due east."

Billy nods. "Shall we?" he asks, then pulls his muffler securely up over his mouth and nose.

Michael returns his nod and does the same, burying his hand back in his pockets as quickly as possible. He looks at Casey and jerks his head to the left, indicating the necessary route. Casey understands what he means and takes point as they break their huddle and fall back into position.

Michael remains vigilant, watching their backs as they go, trying to make sure they are in the clear.

It never occurs to him that the greatest danger lays straight ahead.

= 0=

The small expanse looks like all the others they have crossed since they fled Soudiski's compound. It could be a field or a small lake; covered in a foot of snow it is hard to tell and either one is just as likely as the other. They are halfway across before something goes wrong.

First, Michael hears a gunshot.

He whips around, drawing his gun and dropping to a crouch, ready to fire. But nobody is behind him. He curses and scans the tree line, looking for the drug dealers, when he hears another shot, this one louder than before. He ducks and flinches before he realizes the sound isn't coming from the tree line at all; instead, it is coming from behind him. From where the rest of the ODS is, running ahead of him toward the car. Which means…

The sound isn't a gunshot at all.

It's breaking ice.

And Michael whirls around just in time to see Billy go under.

= 0=

It's déjà vu.

Except it isn't exactly déjà vu, Michael realizes. If it was, everything would to be the same and it's not. But it's close enough.

A different country. A different lake. But still a friend falling into icy water.

And this time, all Michael can do is stare.

But then as quickly as Billy goes down, he pops back up gasping, his eyes wide from the shock of the frigid water. Casey and Rick are doubling back, shouting Billy's name, the urgency in their voices breaking Michael from his trance. He begins running toward Billy when he hears another shot crack the air. "Get down," he yells to Rick and Casey. They immediately drop flat on the ground and the next shot is not quite so loud.

"Soudiski?" Rick questions, yells actually, over the wind as he looks up and scans the tree line.

Michael takes a quick peek back and shakes his head. "No! Ice!" Rick looks down, barely controlled fear written all over his face. But it is a fear Michael doesn't have time to indulge, not with Billy flailing in the frigid water.

Because Billy _is _flailing.

Billy's a good swimmer so falling into the water normally wouldn't be a problem. But this isn't ordinary water- it's ice water, just barely above 32 degrees. And while the crazy people in Polar Bear Clubs make diving in almost look easy, Michael knows that's only because they've mentally prepared themselves ahead of time. But when someone falls in by accident, the shock makes coherent thought and movement almost impossible.

In short, Billy's not getting out without help.

Michael lays down as flat as he can, trying to evenly distribute his weight over the snow and ice, and slides toward Billy. On the other side of the hole, Casey is hastily shoveling snow away with his hands, trying to get a good look at the ice so he can identify the fault lines. It takes Rick a second to catch on, but then he begins brushing off the snow as well.

Billy, for his part, is trying to control his panic and has managed to stop flailing, which is good, but he is still hyperventilating. Michael pulls the scarf down from his face and yells, "Billy! Breathe slower!" Billy gives a half-nod, or at least Michael hopes it is a nod. Because although he knows hyperventilation in this case is the body's automatic response, the resulting increase in body warmth will be negligible and the additional exertion isn't going to do anything but wear Billy out more quickly.

The few seconds it takes to crawl to the ice hole seem to take forever. Although, Michael is well-aware that what seems like forever to him is easily 100 eternities to Billy, who is still trying to stay afloat and regulate his breathing. The water is now freezing to his eyebrows in icicles, reminding Michael of a drawing of Jack Frost he once saw as a kid.

Finally, Michael makes it and he reaches his hand out to Billy. "Grab on!" he yells, stretching his arm as far over the hole as he can. Billy nods but his teeth are chattering too hard to reply.

The hole isn't large, but it is large enough that Billy will have to swim and his movements are already becoming visibly slower. Michael curses silently, knowing all too well that hypothermia is already beginning to set in, but he doesn't let his concern show. "That's it," he encourages as Billy begins to swim. "You're doing great. Almost there."

Finally, Billy makes it over and grabs Michael's hand. Michael doesn't waste a second and immediately pulls him to the side of the hole. He then reaches into the water, the depth of the cold almost unbearable, and pulls Billy's other arm out of the water and places it on the ice. He quickly glances at Billy's face, noticing that the Scot's normally bright blue eyes are clouded and dull, before he begins pulling.

It's working. He has Billy's shoulders out of the water, then his chest.

But then Michael hears another shot, this time so loud he thinks it might have split his eardrum.

Then another.

Try as he might, he can't keep his hold on Billy as the ice splits in two beneath the Scot. And as Michael's grip slips, there is nothing he can do but watch as his friend disappears back under again.

= 0=

For a moment, Michael's heart stands still.

Then Billy, ever resilient, comes back up. He doesn't pop up quite as quickly as he did the first time, the cold beginning to take a toll on his strength. He's gasping and barely treading water but he's still there and not giving up.

And Michael won't give up, either.

The problem is, the ice underneath him is too weak to support Billy's weight. Protocol dictates that you should always climb out the same direction that you came from, that the ice there would be stronger. But that is clearly not the case today. As Michael hastily brushes away the snow and looks down at the fault lines, he realizes he is lucky it is even supporting him. They will get Billy out, Michael is certain of it, but not in this direction.

He glances across the gaping hole to Casey and Rick on the other side. "I'm sending him to you," he yells. Casey nods, implicitly understanding Michael's thought process. He quickly spread eagles on the ground across the hole and Rick gets down behind him, doing the same and grabbing ahold of Casey's ankles to provide additional leverage.

Billy is still bobbing in the water, not three feet from Michael. But three feet has never seemed so far away. Michael stretches out his right arm, trying to reach Billy to give him a helpful shove in Casey's direction, but he comes up short. He scoots closer to the edge, now precariously balanced and using all of his upper body strength to avoid falling in, but still comes up empty.

"Can you swim across?" he yells to Billy over the wind, pointing in Casey's direction.

Billy turns his head to judge the distance, then slowly looks back and nods. He begins swimming toward Casey but his strokes are uncoordinated and barely capable of moving his body forward at all. He will get to the side eventually, but it will take time. Too much time.

And Michael realizes there is only one way this is going to work; only one way to get Billy out.

So he takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and slides in.

= 0=

The frigid water shocks his body, so much so that his muscles lock up and it takes him a second to even figure out which way is up. But then he emerges, his body heaving to pull in shallow gasps of cold air. And he understands why Billy has been hyperventilating. Billy…. Michael opens his eyes.

Billy is right in front of him, just inches away, treading water again. And instead of smiling and giving Michael a much anticipated, "so, do you come here often?" or, "maybe _not_ the best day for a swim, then," he merely frowns.

Even though Billy's eyes aren't clear, Michael can still read them perfectly. "What?" he quips with a smile as he tries to control his respiration. "You didn't expect me to let you have all the fun, did you?"

Billy's frown deepens. "I… was... hoping," he manages to get out, his teeth chattering uncontrollably.

Michael smiles. "No such luck," he replies as he wraps one arm around Billy's waist and begins towing him toward Casey.

It is hard work. Much harder than Michael imagined. His muscles simply don't want to move, no matter what his brain tells them. And never has the phrase "mind over matter" made more sense. Their progress is slow and his grip slips once, then twice, before he hastily removes his fancy new gloves and lets them sink down to the bottom of the lake. His bare hands provide more traction on Billy's coat, but they become numb in a matter of seconds.

Now that Michael is able to see Billy up close, he is better able to assess the operative's condition. And what he sees isn't good. Billy's hat has fallen off and water has frozen to his hair, eyebrows, and eyelashes. Even his characteristic light stubble is covered in frozen water droplets. His eyes are dull, but he is still responsive, so Michael takes that as a win for the moment. And Billy's face, while pale, isn't tinged with foreboding blue yet, so that is good as well. All in all, it is the best Michael could hope for.

Well, the best he could hope for while trying to save a friend from dying in a frigid lake and simultaneously re-living one of his worst childhood nightmares. The "best" is highly relative at the moment.

They are a foot or two away from the other side now, Casey's outstretched hand making up the difference. He grasps onto the front of Billy's coat and begins to pull him onto the ice. Almost immediately, a shot splits through the air.

Michael curses. Casey stops. They all wait; too afraid to move, to even breathe.

But the ice holds.

For now.

"We've got to spread his weight out more," Michael yells. "I'll lift from behind."

Casey nods and waits for Michael to move behind Billy. Now in position, Casey counts. "one, two…" and on the count of three, Michael lifts and pushes Billy from behind as Casey pulls. It isn't pretty, but they are able to maneuver Billy's body where he is almost parallel to the ice. Once Casey drags Billy's torso out, Rick pulls Casey legs from behind and together, the three of them get Billy out.

Michael is so relieved he almost laughs; cheating death will do that to a person. But he is simply too cold and numb.

On the ice, Rick pulls Billy farther away from the edge and is making quick work of removing his waterlogged coat before it freezes to his body. Casey moves back to the edge and holds out his hand. Michael wastes no time reaching out to grasp it. He knows a straight pull out would crack the ice and possibly send Casey under as well, which is not an acceptable option. He needs to spread out his weight as much as possible. So as Casey began to pull, he uses all the strength he could muster and throws his left leg up and out of the water, barely catching the edge of the ice. Casey strains, his jaw taut as he pulls at Michael's arm with both hands.

Casey is strong but the additional water weight from Michael's soaked clothes makes him much heavier. Michael tries to pull his leg farther across the ice to get more leverage, but his muscles are exhausted. His leg is quivering and about to slip back into the water when all of a sudden Rick is there, pulling on Michael's leg as hard as possible.

Another shot rings out and Michael is sure the ice is about to give way and he will go under again. But neither Casey nor Rick let go. And three seconds later, he is out.

A second after his stomach hits the ice, there's a loud crack and another section of ice collapses, this one partially beneath him. But Casey and Rick hold on and pull until he is on solid ice.

And this time, when Michael looks over and sees the edge of the ice just inches beyond his arm, he can't help it.

He laughs.

= 0=

The elation doesn't last long.

Because they are still running from armed thugs in a snowstorm. And Billy is soaked to the bone, visibly shaking and already hypothermic, and the car is almost half a mile away. Oh, and they are still on the lake which might or might not continue to bear their weight.

So, in a nutshell, joy gives way to realism pretty quickly.

Michael scrambles to all fours and flounders through the snow over to where Billy sits, his wet coat discarded and Rick's dry but too-small coat wrapped around his shoulders. Billy is shivering uncontrollably and his eyes are hooded and barely open, looking down at the snow with a dull expression.

"Hey, Billy?" he says, touching his face and trying to get the operative's attention, when he feels a tug on his clothes. Michael looks down and sees Rick trying to unfasten the buttons on his coat. Behind him, Casey is shrugging out of his own outerwear. Michael understands what they are doing, but shakes his head.

"Give it to Billy," he orders while fighting off Rick's hands.

"But you'll freeze," Rick protests, his eyes concerned.

Rick's words seem to penetrate Billy's sluggish consciousness and his eyes slowly track up, and then over. "Michael..." he starts, his voice barely audible and his eyes weak and exhausted but pleading nonetheless.

But Michael cuts him off before he can waste his strength protesting. "You were in a lot longer. And you're in worse shape, whether you know it or not," he explains, then looks up at Casey. "Give it to Billy," he orders.

Casey looks like he wants to protest as well, but he understands basic triage. Which means he knows Michael is right. But that doesn't stop him from casting a worried glance Michael's way as he wraps his coat over Rick's on Billy's shoulders. "We need to get moving," Casey says as he secures the coat as best he can. Then he takes off his scarf and wraps it around Billy's neck.

Michael nods, knowing the facts all too well. "Agreed." Just because Billy is out of the water doesn't mean he is out of danger. With a dip in the freezing temperatures, Billy might have as little as 15 minutes left unless they get him out of the elements and warmed up. And the fact that Billy didn't fight off Casey's ministrations and insist Michael take the coat only proves how out of it the Scot is becoming.

Which only makes Michael more determined to get going. Now.

He stumbles to his feet and grabs Billy by the arm, hoisting him up as well. "Casey, take point. Rick, cover our backs. I'll take Billy."

"I'm stronger, I should take Billy," Casey argues. "I can bear his weight better. Besides, I'm warmer and dry. Billy's not going to warm up if he's being helped by a popsicle."

"I need you to break a path in the snow," Michael responds. "That's a harder job than helping Billy and a clear path will let us move faster. And my hands are too frozen to be of any use with a gun," he says, directing his comments at Rick and cutting off any objections before they can start. "You'll be more useful making sure we don't get shot in the back." Then he looks back at Casey. "And we're wasting time arguing about it," he adds.

It's true, of course. It's all true.

But what Michael doesn't say is that he needs to do this himself; to help Billy, to get him to safety, to keep him alive. For Billy, for himself, and for Steven Ellis.

He will not fail again.

He just can't.

Casey purses his lips. Rick frowns. But they both take up their positions and begin the trek.

= 0=

Ahead of them, Casey breaks the path with efficiency. Behind them, Rick manages to both hover and keep look-out.

And Billy… well, Billy is hanging in there. Even with Rick and Casey's coats around him, he is still visibly shaking. Michael does his best to keep him warm—adjusting the coats, shielding his body from the harsh wind, rewrapping the muffler when it blows off Billy's face —but he knows it will all be too little too late if they don't make it to the car soon.

They walk as quickly as they can but still their pace is slow. Billy's coordination is off but he is doing the best he can. Then, he stumbles. Michael wraps a steadying arm around his shoulder and smiles. "Not much father," he shouts over the wind.

Billy barely glances over, then looks back down; down at the path, down at his feet, as if willing them to move takes all of his energy and concentration.

Then, he stumbles again and goes down to his knees before Michael can catch him. Rick rushes up to help and Casey turns around, his eyes locking briefly with Michael's. And Michael knows Casey understands the situation, too.

They are running short on time.

As Michael and Rick haul Billy back on his feet, Casey turns back around and begins cutting the path with vigor, the reality of the situation giving him new energy. His movements are concise, as always, but now they are so fast they appear desperate, if not downright manic.

They began walking again and Rick stays within two feet of their backs, ready to catch Billy if he goes down again. Michael can sense his movements as Rick periodically glances behind them to look for danger and occasionally, up at the sky. He is also close enough that Michael can hear him mumbling something that, given the severity of the circumstances, Michael assumes is a prayer.

And Michael does what he does: he assesses. And his team is doing exactly what he expects them to do when faced with a dire situation. Casey is facing reality and using his body to their advantage. Rick is literally watching their backs and waiting to help. Michael, for his part, is analyzing the facts and adjusting the plan to increase the odds of a favorable outcome. The only thing missing from the equation is Billy's effervescent personality and optimism. And now that it's not there, Michael realizes just how necessary it is.

He grasps Billy's arm tighter and leans close to his ear. "Rick and Casey are playing their parts. I need you to play yours, too."

It isn't a quite a command, but it also isn't just a simple request.

Instead, it is a plea.

Because he's already seen this movie play out once in real life and he can't do it again. Not if it ends the same way.

So he needs Billy to play along, more than anything. Because Michael is a jack of all trades. He can plan, he can be realistic, he can believe in prayer even if he doesn't pray himself, and he can even be optimistic, if pressed. But the only way this story will have a happy ending is if Billy supplies the optimism himself.

Because things are bleak.

Billy is freezing to death right before Michael's eyes and there isn't a single thing he can do about it. And he can help and encourage and lie to Billy all day long, but if Billy gives up hope, it's all over.

Michael smiles, waiting for some sort of acknowledgement.

But this time, Billy doesn't look over.

He doesn't respond at all.

= 0=

By the time they see the car, Michael is practically carrying Billy. Rick, for his part, has flat-out abandoned looking for anyone pursuing them and is bolstering Billy up on the other side.  
"Look… there it is," Michael manages to get out through his chattering teeth.

Billy still doesn't respond, even though his eyes are open. Rick shoots a concerned look at Michael before joining in. "We're almost there," he adds with false cheerfulness.

And then, they _are _there.

Casey runs to the driver's side and fires up the car as Rick opens the passenger side door. Michael shakes his head. "He needs… to go… in back."

"But it'll be warmer up front," Rick starts to protest even as Michael is maneuvering Billy toward the back door. "We could turn up the heater…"

"Frostbite…" Michael interrupts. "Heat would… damage..."

Rick nods and opens the back door. "Got it."

Between the two of them, they manage to get Billy into the backseat. As soon as he is situated, his head resting on top of a dry hat in Michael's lap, Rick hops in the front seat. He doesn't even have to close his door before Casey hits the accelerator and takes off toward town.

Michael's hands aren't cooperating all that well anymore, but he manages to pull the muffler down from Billy's mouth, hoping it will allow him to breathe more freely. He holds back a grimace when he notices the Scot's lips are tinged with blue. Instead, he fakes a smile. "We'll be there… in… no time."

But as Billy closes his eyes, all Michael can think is that even if that were true, "no time" might still be too late.

= 0=

After the roaring wind of the snowstorm, the inside of the car is eerily quiet.

Casey grips the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turn white. He stares straight ahead, peering at the road as the windshield wipers try to keep up with the falling snow. Rick wastes no time removing almost all of his clothes, reaching over the backseat as each piece comes off to place them on top of Billy.

"Enough… Martinez," Michael finally tells him after Rick gets down to his jeans and thermal shirt. "They won't… let you in… naked."

"I know, it's just…" Rick looks pained as his voice trails off.

"I know." Michael nods sadly and then looks down at Billy and notices the lower lobes of his ears now turning bluish-grey. He manages to control the shaking in his hands long enough to feel for a pulse as he counts in his head. When he is finished, he sighs. Billy's pulse is getting slow. Too slow. And his white puffs of breath are getting smaller and farther apart.

"Can you… go faster?" Michael asks.

Casey snorts. "Now why didn't I think of that?"

"Billy's…"

"Yeah, I got it," Casey replies tersely, his eyes still focused straight ahead. "He's running out of time and I would love to go faster. But the visibility and traction are bad enough already. If I push it any more, we'll be wrapped around a tree. This is the best I can do unless you want all of us to die."

But looking back down, Michael's not sure he'll get what he wants either way.

= 0=

The hospital appears out of nowhere.

One second, they're still driving in a swirling mess, the next they're pulling up in front of the ER, the lighted entrance sign barely penetrating the blowing snow. Rick jumps out of the car and starts running inside before Casey fully has it in park. Before Casey can kill the ignition, Rick's back, three nurses with a gurney trailing behind him.

Rick opens the back car door and suddenly, hands are everywhere: feeling for a pulse, checking respiration, trying to pull Billy out of the car. All Michael can do is stare down at his own hands, uselessly wrapped around Billy's shoulders.

Then the hands are back, tugging at Michael's fingers. "Sir, you need to let go," someone says in heavily accented English.

But Michael can't.

They got to the hospital and people are there to help and Billy might have a shot but only if Michael can release him.

But he simply can't. He doesn't know if it's his brain or his frozen fingers causing the problem but as he stares down at Billy's pale face, he just can't do it.

"Sir," he hears again, then the hands pry his fingers loose. And just like that, Billy is gone.

"Come on," Casey says.

Michael looks up and is surprised to see Casey standing right beside him, holding the car door open for him to climb out.

But Michael's feet aren't obeying any better than his hands. Casey reaches down and grasps him under his arm, pulling him up and out of the car. He bolsters Michael up and then wraps an arm around his shoulders. His moves are efficient and practical, yet surprisingly gentle, especially for Casey.

Michael looks over.

Casey frowns. "Don't get used to it," he says as he half-carries, half-drags Michael to the ER's door.

= 0=

The fluorescent light inside is almost blinding, even more so than the snow.

Michael squints and looks around the waiting room and sees a bank of beige plastic chairs partially occupied by a few people looking bored, a TV showing a replay of a local skiing competition, and a small reception desk.

What he doesn't see is Billy.

Casey continues on, helping Michael toward a set of double doors. And then, he sees him, through the door's narrow window.

And his heart sinks.

Billy is splayed out on a gurney, his clothes ripped off with his lower half draped in blankets. His body is so pale and lifeless that Michael can't help but wonder if he's already dead. At his head, a nurse is squeezing a vent bag and another nurse has a thermometer in his ear. A doctor holds a stethoscope to his chest and listens, then frowns and moves the stethoscope to another spot. Rick is standing at the foot of Billy's gurney looking completely lost.

Casey moves to stiff-arm the door when a stout nurse steps in front of him. She frowns and says something in Russian. Michael scrunches up his face, trying to understand. Casey seems to have better luck and rattles something off in reply.

The next thing Michael knows, a wheelchair is there and Casey is depositing him into the seat. The double doors open and someone starts to push him inside. Casey moves to go with him but the large nurse blocks his way again. She and Casey engage in another short conversation and the only word Michael catches is "brothers". But whatever he says seems to work because the nurse lets him pass.

Michael expects to be wheeled to Billy's bedside- after all, the wheelchair is just a ruse to get past the nurse- but he's surprised when they stop short and he's pushed into a small area and a curtain is pulled instead.

"What's… going…" he starts, looking at Casey.

"You're hypothermic, too," Casey explains.

Michael shakes his head.

Casey's wrong. He's not hypothermic. He's fine. Actually, now that he's inside, he's actually starting to feel a bit warm.

He shakes his head again. "I'm…"

"Staying here," Casey says firmly, leaning over to look Michael in the eye. "Until the doctor says you're fine."

Michael frowns and tries his best to see around Casey but the curtain is blocking his view. He catches a glimpse of Rick's arm but then a nurse is helping him up on the bed and he can't see anything anymore. She takes off his coat and Michael remembers for the first time that it's wet, along with all his other clothes. The nurse starts to unbutton his shirt and he looks down, then back up to Casey, embarrassed.

"Can… you…"

Casey quickly grasps the situation. "Yes," he replies with a nod. "I'll check on Billy and come back as soon as I know something."

= 0=

What the Belarusian nurses lack in looks and bedside manner they make up for with efficiency. Ten minutes later, Michael is stripped down and buried underneath his own stack of blankets with a warm saline IV inserted into the crook of his left arm. One of the nurses walks into the room with four hot water bottles and, over his protests, places one under each armpit and two more somewhere he'd rather them not be. Another nurse sticks a thermometer in his ear for what Michael thinks must be the 100th time. All in all, the nurses are doing everything they can. Except listen to him.

"My… friend…" he says, speaking in his best Russian.

The nurses ignore him. He's not sure if that's because they are busy or if his Russian is simply indecipherable through his chattering teeth.

But Michael refuses to be ignored again. His reaches his hand out and grabs the nurse taking his temperature by the arm. "My… brother…" he starts again, urgently.

The nurse shakes off his hand and scowls. She says something abrupt, then is gone. Michael looks over at the other nurse, who is charting something on a file by his feet. "Please…"

She looks up at him, smiles sadly, then clips the chart on the foot of his bed and leaves as well.

Left alone, Michael strains to hear what's going on with Billy. He can hear Billy's slow heartbeat on a monitor, hear the whoosh of a ventilator that must now be in place, hear the sounds of the doctors and nurses bustling about him. Casey hasn't come back but Michael isn't surprised. Because over the din of the sounds of people trying to save Billy's life, he can hear Casey singing.

It's not loud, the song, but it is low and mellow.

Which only scares Michael more.

He reaches out and tries to pull the curtain partitioning off his room to see what's happening, but the IV tubing won't allow him to roll over far enough to grasp it. Michael hastily pulls the IV out, ignoring the resulting blood and saline spilling everywhere, and reaches farther. Pins and needles shoot painfully through his shaking hands but he keeps straining until he catches the hem of the fabric. He pulls and the ball bearings roll just enough that the curtain moves.

And Michael can see.

He can see across the ER, where Casey is standing in the corner, singing to himself. He can see Rick standing a few feet away from Casey, soundlessly mouthing words with a tear-stained face. He can see the doctors and nurses trying their best to save Billy's life.

And he can see Billy, as blue and lifeless as Steven Ellis was when Michael dragged him out of the lake.

And when Billy's monitors began to wail, Michael can't see anything at all.

= 0=

When Michael wakes up, Casey is there.

He's not sure if that should be reassuring or concerning. If Casey's not with Billy, that means Billy doesn't need him. And the only way Billy doesn't need him is if Billy's either better or dead.

His breath hitches at the thought. "Billy?" he asks.

"He's alive," Casey responds drily. "And that was stupid. Having one person down was bad enough and you, making it two, didn't help. So next time, I'd appreciate it if you spared us the theatrics."

Michael ignores his remarks. "But the monitors…"

"Rewarming shock," Casey explains clinically. "It sent him into cardiac arrest, but they eventually got him back."

Michael's heart sinks. This can't be happening.

Not again.

And not to Billy.

"How long was he down?" he asks sharply, his tone sounding harsher than he intended. It's not that he's angry with Casey, it's just that he's almost afraid to hear the answer.

But Casey understands and simply sighs. "A few minutes. The doctors think the hypothermia will work in his favor and prevent brain damage. That is, if you're willing to overlook the fact that hypothermia is what caused his heart to stop in the first place. But they think he's going to be ok."

"They _think_?"

Casey shrugs but Michael can see the worry on his face. "It's hard to tell. He hasn't woken up yet. But the doctors are optimistic, for what that's worth."

Michael looks past Casey, but the curtain has been pulled again. "Can I see him?"

"They're getting him settled in what passes for the ICU around here. But Rick's working his magic on one of the nurses. He thinks he can get you a wheelchair so you can take shifts with us. That is, if you're good in the meantime and stay in bed to finish thawing out."

Michael sighs, not liking the idea. "Do you know how much longer that's going to take?"

Casey shakes his head. "Probably not too long- maybe another few hours. But it'll go faster if you stop pulling out your IV and taking swan dives off the bed."

Michael gets the point and moves on. "Ok, then. But I want the first shift."

= 0=

By the time Rick appears with a wheelchair three hours later, Michael is pretty sure the first shift has already been taken. And the second.

"What happened to calling dibs?" he asks testily as he settles into the seat.

Rick looks apologetic as he loads a few blankets on Michael's lap. "Sorry about that."

"So, how is he?"

Rick blanches. "He's, um… doing better."

"You've got to become a better liar than that, Martinez, especially if you're trying to lie to me," Michael scolds simply because he's worried and frustrated and tired of being out of the loop. "Now, _how is Billy_?"

Rick sighs as he pushes Michael toward the elevator. "Still out of it. But the doctors think he'll come around soon."

"Did Casey get the intel out?" he asks quietly after checking the hall and making sure it's deserted.

"Yes. And he's been in contact with Langley so they know what's going on."

"And are our covers holding?"

Rick pushes the elevator button. "For now. Casey kind of amended them to get past the nurses. Apparently, we're all brothers now."

Michael raises his eyebrows and looks up at Rick incredulously. "And they're buying that? With four different last names? And a Puerto Rican and a Scot?"

"I didn't say it made sense. And they don't know Billy's a Scot yet so we're probably ok on that until he wakes up and starts talking. And once he does that, we probably won't need special access anyway." Rick shrugs as the elevator arrives and he pushes Michael in. "I had to smooth things over at first, but it seems to be working for now. The, uh, head nurse who blocked your way originally…" Michael watches Rick's reflection as young operative squirms uncomfortably. "Well, as it turns out, she's a lot like Doris in counterfeiting," Rick concludes.

"Huh," Michael says with a thoughtful uplift of his head. Apparently, Billy wasn't the only charmer in the group. Maybe he'd sold the kid short after all. "Well, if you can keep that going, Martinez, I'll amend my previous remarks about your lying skills."

The elevator opens into the drab grey ICU waiting room where Casey is pacing. He turns when Rick wheels Michael out.

"Any change?" Rick asks.

Casey shakes his head grimly. "The same."

Rick pushes Michael to Billy's room, the first one on the left. He stops in front of the closed door and sighs.

"How long can I have?" Michael asks.

"Ten minutes," Rick replies quietly.

Michael's eyebrows shoot up. "That's it?"

Rick nods. "Ten minutes every hour."

"And you can't work some more puppy dog eyes at the nurse to get us some slack?"

Rick shakes his head as he pushes open Billy's door. "Vera's off duty for now, but I'll see what I can do in the morning."

And as Michael gets his first glimpse at Billy, he's not sure morning can come soon enough.

= 0=

Billy looked dead before.

He looked dead in the back seat of the car. He looked dead downstairs in the ER. And now, after hours of medical intervention and critical care…

Billy still looks dead.

Rick pushes Michael closer, up to Billy's bedside, then leaves the room, closing the door behind him. Michael takes a good look.

And up close…

Billy still looks dead.

Except dead people usually don't have a mound of blankets piled on top of them with wires protruding everywhere. Dead people aren't on bypass machines, with their blood flowing out one tube, just to be warmed and sent back in by another tube. Dead people didn't have ventilators. Or EKG machines. Or IVs. Or any of the other medical paraphernalia that seemed to be hooked up everywhere.

So, in short, Billy must be alive.

Although, looking at his pale, waxy skin, it's impossible to tell.

And Michael realizes he does need to amend his comment about Rick's lying skills. The kid's a pro. Casey, too. And he'll happily kill them both as soon as his ten minutes are over.

Because they made him think things were getting better. Well, maybe not better, but at least not worse. And this… is worse.

Way worse.

Because it's obvious Billy's can't do anything by himself. Not breathing, not peeing, and certainly not regulating his body temperature. And as recently as a few hours ago, Billy couldn't even make his own heart beat without help.

So, in a nutshell, things are bad.

Really bad.

Michael sighs and then pulls his hand out from underneath the blankets on his lap and rests it lightly on Billy's shoulder. But he simply doesn't know what to say.

Because Billy's the one who's good at looking on the bright side. He's the one who believes in the impossible and happy endings no matter how desperate things look.

And Michael… well, Michael's not. He deals in cold, hard facts and when things go wrong, he relies on his wits and his resourcefulness to outthink the other man. But this time, there is no other man. And he's used his knowledge and his skills and all it's gotten him is Billy lying half-dead in a bed. And being a jack of all trades doesn't count for anything if you can't do the one thing that's really important, no matter how hard it is.

So Michael breathes out a large breath and smiles.

"They say you're doing great, that you'll be fine," he says, squeezing Billy's shoulder reassuringly.

Because Billy needs optimism to survive and if he can't supply it himself, then it falls on Michael to play the part.

He can only pray Billy wakes up to call him on the lie.

= 0=

The next day, Michael is discharged but Billy is roughly the same.

His color has improved a bit, Michael notices as he takes his third allotted ten minute shift of the day. And while his skin has not returned to its usual peachy-tan color, at least the bluish-grey tinge in gone. His temperature is approaching the low side of normal and the bypass machine has been turned off for the time being. All in all, things are looking up.

Except for the fact that Billy still hasn't woken up.

Michael hears the doctors whispering outside Billy's room, talking about things like brain damage. But he refuses to consider it. Billy needs an optimist. So that's what Michael is going to be.

"You're looking better now," he says, pausing to cough. He curses the warm, humid air the doctors keep pumping into Billy's room, trying to gradually finish the warming process. "And the nurses are cute. So you need to go ahead and wake up before Rick claims them all for himself."

But Billy doesn't object.

= 0=

Slowly, they wean Billy off all of the machines except for the ventilator.

He looks better without all the wires and tubes everywhere and Michael might be able to pretend Billy was simply asleep if not for the vent tube taped to the side of his mouth and the IV puncturing the vein on the top of his left hand.

But he's not asleep; he unconscious.

And it's been three days and now Michael hears whispers of pneumonia in the hallway as well as the ever-looming brain damage.

"I think Rick's engaged to at least three nurses now," Michael tells Billy as he takes off his scratchy wool sweater, glad to finally be warm, if not hot. "They might just be in for a green card, but you never know. He's turning into quite the Casanova. You need to wake up and give him a run for his money or we might return to the states with a polygamist on the team."

But Billy doesn't smile.

= 0=

Michael's tired.

He's tired of smiling and tired of lying and tired of telling Billy happy anecdotes to keep the mood light. He's tired of hospitals and tired of coughing and tired of ignoring doctors whispering in the hall. He's tired of sleeping in waiting room chairs and tired of borscht and tired of Belarus altogether.

But mainly, he's tired of not having Billy.

Tired of not seeing him smile and of not hearing him tell stories and of not watching him flirt with the nurses and drive them mad. Tired of not hearing him complain about hospital food and of not listening to him recite bad poetry and of not watching him tease Casey just for the fun of it.

He's tired of not having Billy period.

But it's been five days now and the pneumonia's under control and the ventilator's gone so really, there's no reason he hasn't woken up.

Unless, of course, it's because he's not going to wake up.

But Michael can't think like that.

He lurks in the hallways enough to know what's going on. Casey spends his shifts frowning and staring and Rick spends his looking lost so it's really up to him to encourage Billy.

"I made a bet that you'd wake up today," Michael says, then has to pause until the coughing fit passes. "Malick will owe me twenty if you can do it by midnight."

But Billy doesn't appear interested.

"Come on," Michael cajoles, then has to stop to cough a couple of times. "You're not going to make a liar out of me, are you?"

And then he's coughing again but this time, he can't make it stop. He's gasping and heaving but he simply can't catch another breath. He reaches for the call button on Billy's bed but it's just beyond his grasp.

And as his vision tunnels, all he can see is Billy. And all he can think is that he's failed.

He studied hypothermia and prepared for all of those years but knowing the facts still didn't do him any good.

He helped Billy out and he got him to safety but he still couldn't save him.

He told Billy he'd be ok and he isn't. He told Billy he'd make it and he hasn't.

And he's told Billy a lot of things under the guise of optimism, of encouragement. But even while unconscious in a hospital bed, Billy still saw through them, still saw them for what they were.

Lies.

Michael has failed.

And Billy doesn't have to make a liar out of him.

He's one already.

= 0=

For the second time on this miserable mission, Michael has the sensation of déjà vu.

Except this time, it really is déjà vu.

Same hospital. Same bed. Same Casey frowning at him intently.

Michael moves to speak, then coughs. "Billy?" he manages to get out.

"He's alive," Casey replies curtly. "And that was stupid. Didn't I tell you to cut out the theatrics?"

"But..."

Casey raises his eyebrows. "But you thought you could make things better if you caught pneumonia and died at his bedside?"

"No… I just…" Michael starts, then settles into another bout of coughing.

Casey sighs heavily. "Yeah. I know."

Michael finally manages to stop. "Can I see him?"

Casey nods. "Yes. Now that you're awake, they're going to put you in the same room."

"But…" Michael frowns in concern. "Billy's in the ICU." Half-dead in the ICU, as best as Michael can remember.

"Not anymore," Casey replies. "He woke up right before midnight, mumbling something about not making you a liar."

Michael stares at Casey, stunned. "He's awake?"

Casey nods, then smiles slowly.

And all Michael can feel is relief. Wonderful, heady relief.

So much in fact, that he laughs. Cheating death will do that to a person.

But it probably isn't the best idea because it sends him into another coughing fit.

Casey's smile is gone immediately and he narrows his eyes. "You might want to stop doing that."

"And next time…" Michael says between gasps, "you might want to lead… with the good news."

Casey shrugs. "Consider it payback for passing out on me. Twice."

"Speaking of payback…" Michael stops coughing long enough to grin and hold out his hand. "I think you owe me a twenty."

= 0=

Later that morning, Michael's wheeled into a double room where Rick is already waiting in a chair and Billy is sleeping. His color is better now that he's out from under the harsh lights of the ICU, but he still looks frail and small in the bed. He also looks exhausted and weak and downright pitiful, if Michael is honest about it.

But still, he's alive.

And awake. Well, technically he's asleep, but he's not in a coma anymore and Michael's too happy about the turn of events to split hairs.

"How is he?" he asks Rick, keeping his voice low to avoid waking Billy. Although, really, it's unnecessary. Billy's breathing is noisy and wet from the pneumonia and the cannula positioned under his nose is hissing softly in the background. Anything he says will be drowned out. But still, he's not taking any chances.

Rick walks over stands by his side. "Better," he says, barely above a whisper. "He's been asleep most of the morning. But his vitals are stable and the doctors are pleased."

Michael nods. "I've got it from here. I already sent Casey to find you guys a hotel room. Why don't you go join him and get some sleep."

"Are you sure?" Rick asks hesitantly, looking over at Billy.

Michael nods again. "Go. You've earned some rest."

"Ok, then," Rick says, gathering his things. "We'll be back later today."

Then, it's just the two of them.

And Michael simply lays there and watches Billy as he sleeps.

= 0=

Michael's not sure when he fell asleep but he knows he must have because all of a sudden, he's awake.

And he's not the only one.

"Ahh… my pneumonia buddy!" Billy exclaims, then begins coughing.

Michael looks over and smiles. Billy's still pale and gaunt and looks like he might fall over at any moment, but he's propped up and awake.

"About time you woke up," Michael teases as he rubs the sleep from his eyes.

"I could say the same for you," Billy says with a grin. "And you know me, I just had to wait for the right motivation," he pauses to cough again. "Far be it from me to pass up an opportunity to pester Casey."

"I heard that," Casey mumbles as he enters the room carrying a bag of what smells like dinner.

"I was counting on that, mate," Billy replies cheerfully.

"I found some napkins," Rick says as he enters the room, then smiles. "Hey! You're both awake!"

"And I hope there's something in that bag other than hospital borscht," Michael says, eying it as Casey pulls out some cartons.

"It's Veraščaka," Casey replies, opening up the cartons and looking inside them distrustfully. "At least I think that's how you pronounce it."

"Which is…" Michael prompts, because really, it sounds horrible.

"Some sort of meaty gravy and pancake dish," Rick replies, opening up the packages of silverware. "Vera recommended it."

Billy's eyebrows pique. "And who is Vera?"

Rick looks embarrassed. Casey scowls.

And Michael just chuckles. "Now _that's_ a good story."

= 0=

Billy doesn't make it very far into the story. By the time Rick is squirming so uncomfortably that it looks like he wants crawl away and die, Billy is nodding off, his energy spent.

By the time Rick and Casey finish gathering up what remains of dinner, Michael is right there with him.

= 0=

When Michael wakes again, sunlight is streaming through the windows. He looks groggily over the Billy's bed. The Scot is awake and looks more refreshed than the day before. Michael takes it as a good sign that he's improving. He's obviously eaten, as an empty breakfast tray attests, and his breathing is also easier and the cannula has been removed, further bolstering his conclusion.

All in all, Billy looks like he's doing great, relatively speaking.

Which is why he can't figure out is why Billy is frowning at him.

"What is it?" Michael asks, propping himself up in bed.

"I was just wondering something," Billy replies as he looks at Michael pensively. "Back when we were running, after you pulled me out… you said you needed me to play my part. What did you mean by that?"

Michael cringes. "So you remember that, huh?"

"Aye, I do," Billy says with a nod. "And you're evading the question."

Michael sighs. "I meant that I needed you to be optimistic about staying alive and to have faith that we would get you out." He shrugs nonchalantly. "I just didn't want you to give up hope."

Billy's eyes narrow. "Ok. But that would be reflecting a characteristic, not playing a part."

Michael rolls his eyes. "We weren't all English majors, Billy. It's just semantics."

"Funny," Billy says with a piercing gaze, "bit it seems to me that it's more like you're only telling half the truth."

And Michael knows he's been caught. Even sick, Billy can still see through his lies.

He looks away but Billy's gaze does not waver. He can feel it boring holes in the side of his head. Finally, he looks back over. "It's from when I was a kid."

Billy waits for him to continue.

Michael sighs. "Have you ever seen 'It's a Wonderful Life?'"

"Aye." Billy nods. "The charming black and white American cinema classic."

"Well, that's where it came from," Michael says with a shrug.

If Billy is surprised, he doesn't show it. "And what part did you need me to play?" he asks.

Michael pauses, not really wanting to answer, but then he finally does. "Harry Bailey."

Billy's eyebrows shoot up. "Harry Bailey. The guy who bails on his poor brother George, runs off to college with all of his hard-earned money, and never really comes back until the end? _ That_ Harry Bailey?"

"Well, I was thinking more about how he's a lot like you- always looking for a silver lining. And about how after George pulls him from the icy water, he goes on to become a hero and saves a lot of people." Michael pauses and sighs. "I don't know." He looks down before continuing quietly, "I know it sounds stupid, but I saw something similar happen when I was a kid and it didn't end well. This time, I just needed it to turn out differently. I couldn't be a failure again…" he shakes his head sadly, painfully. "Just… not for you. Not for any of you."

It's an honest admission. Honest and raw and downright embarrassing. And Michael's not exactly sure why he said anything at all. But it's too late to take it back so he looks away again, trying to ease the uncomfortable silence hanging between them in the room as Billy seems to consider his words.

The silence stretches on and on but then Billy finally nods. "Alright, then."

Michael looks up and Billy gives him a sympathetic look, one of understanding.

"I can be Harry Bailey," Billy says as he settles back into the pillows and props his arms behind his head. Then he smiles. "I was just afraid you were going to say you wanted me to be that Uncle Billy bloke. Because let's face it, that man was completely daft."

And all Michael can do is smile back in gratitude as Billy drifts off again.

= 0=

Two nights later, Rick and Casey arrive and not only bring dinner with them, but also a large paper brown bag.

"Did you get it?" Billy asked excitedly.

Rick nods. "I had to go to six cafes to get a stable internet connection, but I finally got it."

"Got what?" Michael asks.

"Our evening's entertainment," Billy replies with a mischievous smile. "I thought we should spend our last night in Belarus with a party."

"I think calling this a party is stretching it," Casey says as he pulls a bottle of Ginger Ale and some plastic cups from the bag.

Billy isn't deterred. "Nonsense! We have food, refreshment, and entertainment. What else could a party need?"

"I don't know… maybe fun?" Casey deadpans.

"Aye, and you will have your fun, Casey! Thus, the entertainment."

"What _is_ the entertainment?" Michael asks. Because this is the first he's even heard of a party, much less entertainment. Billy must have cooked it up with the guys while he was asleep.

Billy looks over and smiles. "Rick has downloaded a cinematic gem for us to watch on his iPad."

"Because apparently being in a hospital for over a week in Belarus, in January, after almost freezing to death isn't cold and depressing enough, Billy had him download 'It's a Wonderful Life,'" Casey comments.

Michael looks over at Billy, surprised.

"Maybe we can give it a better ending this time," Billy says with a wink.

But Michael can't help but think that maybe they already have.

"I like the ending," Rick interjects as he opens the Ginger Ale and pours it into plastic cups.

Casey snorts. "You would."

"Meaning?" Rick asks as he hands Michael a cup.

"That it's unrealistic saccharine drivel," Casey explains. "And way too happy, given the circumstances."

"I don't know," Michael says, finally entering the conversation. "I think there's a place for happy endings."

Casey eyes him warily. "You're starting to sound like Billy. Thank God we're getting out of here tomorrow before his nonsense totally warps your thinking."

But as Rick hands out the cups of Ginger Ale, Michael's not so sure it's such a bad thing.

Because Michael deals in cold, hard facts. And when Billy fell in the water, Michael knew what to do. He followed what the research and medical journals said to do and he got Billy out, he got him to safety.

But while all of that helped, none of it is what saved Billy.

And Michael's not really sure what did- if it was Rick's prayers or Casey's friendship or Billy's generally positive outlook on life. Or that maybe the whole time Michael was uttering lies and saying things he really didn't believe just to try and keep Billy going, Billy had taken his words to heart.

In short, he doesn't know.

But he does know that facts aren't everything. And this time, the one thing he'll take with him is the knowledge that the intangibles are just as important. And also, that sometimes, when everything looks bleak, there really can be a happy ending, surrounded by family and friends, complete with a toast and a song.

Billy hoists his plastic cup of Ginger Ale up into the air. "I'd like to propose a toast to Michael Dorset."

"I swear, if you call him the richest man in town, I'm leaving," Casey says. "This party is pathetic enough already."

"No, I wasn't. Because he isn't." He looks over at Michael and grins. "That is, not unless you've gotten a raise since the last time I looked at your paycheck."

Michael grins back and lifts his head. "I still make more than you do, Collins."

Rick's mouth falls open. "Wait… you guys spy on each other's paychecks?"

Casey sighs. "$2,175; $435; $131; and $1,609," he rattles off, then looks at Rick. "That's your gross pay, tax withholding, 401k savings contribution, and net pay. On a bi-weekly basis, of course."

"But…" Rick just gapes, dumbfounded.

Michael starts to laugh but it sends him into a coughing fit.

"Ahem… As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted," Billy begins again as he raises his glass, "Teacher says, every time a bell rings, an angel…"

"No!" Casey interrupts again, groaning loudly.

Billy winks at him. "Just kidding on that one."

And it's all Michael can do to stop laughing as he holds up his cup in the air as well.

"To Michael Dorset," Billy finally says as he looks over with a sincere smile.

It's a smile of understanding. And a smile of thanks.

And its true meaning is not lost on Michael.

"No man is a failure who has friends," Billy concludes solemnly.

"Here, here," Rick says, raising his plastic cup.

Casey presses his mouth into a thin line. "I think I can live with that," he says and they all clink their plastic cups.

And as Michael takes a sip of his Ginger Ale and looks at his friends, he thinks maybe he can live with that, too.

_The end_


End file.
